Peaceful Passing

Blossoms
Of the plum tree
Thick snow
On the branches
A few wisps of steam rise
As a warm wind
The first of the season
Carries the sound of ice cracking
Through her still closed window
The light of the first quarter moon
And the glow of the angel beside her
Lights a path in the land of dreams
A land where time ebbs and flows like the tides
Where all those she had loved wait patiently for her
As her last few breaths quietly subside